


In The Bleak Midwinter

by krikkiter68



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Smut and Fluff, Creative Use of Tinsel, Fluff, M/M, Melancholy, Slash, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krikkiter68/pseuds/krikkiter68
Summary: It's Christmas.  Malcolm and Jamie reflect upon a trying year.





	In The Bleak Midwinter

It was in the early hours of Christmas morning, and Malcolm Tucker was in dire need of a coffee. He ran a hand over his unshaven cheek and sighed, just as his friend and compatriot Jamie MacDonald crashed through the door without knocking, as per usual.

"Aye, wanker? What's up with ye?" Jamie barked.

"Should've been home fuckin' hours ago," Malcolm intoned. "Fuckin' Foreign Secretary just had tae annoy Russia and the Middle East, didn't he?"

"Again? Christ," Jamie said.

"Aye. If only he'd stuck tae bein' the cunt writin' fer that fuckin' toffs' mag, we'd both be pissed at home right now," Malcolm said, staring furiously at the window blinds.

"Aw, that fuckin' awful publication," Jamie said, leaning against the mahogany drinks cabinet, "I keep copies of it on a fuckin' spike next to the cludgie at home."

"I know. I've been there. Best fuckin' place for it," Malcolm said.

Jamie looked around, his eyebrows working.

"Nae fuckin' decorations this year? Why not?"

"By order of Terri Coverley. She feels," Malcolm said, reaching towards the fruit bowl for a satsuma, "decorations would strike an inappropriate tone an' go against the national mood. What with the country goin' down the fuckin' toilet." He frowned, fingernails working against soft peel.

"At least we've got fuckin' blue passports, though. Jesus. Glorious fuckin' nation of Albion, eh?" Jamie said. He bent down and turned the key of the drinks cabinet, exclaiming as he drew out a green bottle.

"Fancy a drink? What's this fucker? Creme de menthe?"

"Aye. Don't fuckin' touch that, it's Terri's favourite. She's gotta work all day tomorrow, she's gonna need it tae get through the day."

"Who else, then? Where's Poxbridge this evenin'?"

"Off tae his mate's stag do," Malcolm said, between mouthfuls of satsuma segments.

"Aye. What's the bettin' he'll end up tied naked tae a lamp-post on the Embankment, eh? His skinny knackers swingin' in the breeze..."

"He'd probably enjoy that," Malcolm said, watching as Jamie's eyebrows practically hit the ceiling. "I know fuckloads about that tosser."

"Aye. What about Glenn? Most depressed fuckwit in the department?"

"No fuckin' idea. Probably at home. Y'know, I don't know if it's the time of year makin' me feel fuckin' sentimental, but I still feel bad about lamping him at Eastbourne."

Jamie laughed.

"So it was ye who gave him the bottle of fuckin' Glenfiddich in the stupid fuckin' Secret Santa!"

"Aye," Malcolm said, grinning. "So he won't remember anyway, not after he's drained that fucker."

The two of them lapsed into silence. Jamie looked around the office.

"Aww, Malc. Wish there was a tree in here."

"Hang on," Malcolm said. He drew out a bottle of Chianti and handed it to Jamie. Then he turned and opened a drawer.

"What's in there?" Jamie said, craning to see.

"Decorations. C'mon, get that fuckin' bottle open."

Jamie pulled a penknife out of his top jacket pocket and set about loosening the cork. He started, as he felt a firm hand stroking over his trousers.

"Malc - !"

"Shhh," Malcolm murmured, bending to kiss him. Jamie closed his eyes as Malcolm's tongue ravished his mouth, moaning as Malcolm unzipped him, eyelids fluttering against Malcolm's cheek as the older man's hand stroked him to full hardness. Breaking away, he watched Malcolm's hand moving slowly and deliberately against his hard, exposed cock. His hips had just started bucking, when Malcolm kissed his cheek and murmured, "Stay still."

Heart pounding, Jamie stilled his movements, and watched incredulously as Malcolm wrapped a length of green tinsel around his cock.

"Fuck, Malc. Get it tighter," Jamie moaned.

"Ye don't want it too tight. Ye don't want tae have tae explain tae the staff at Casualty how it fuckin' got there. They're fuckin' overworked as it is. There," Malcolm said, taking the bottle of Chianti from Jamie, "there's yer fuckin' tree." He took a swig, then handed it back to Jamie.

"Ahh, that takes me back," Jamie said, grinning, his mouth stained red with wine, "Gap year in Florence. Best time of my fuckin' life." He pulled Malcolm closer to him.

"What about now, then?" Malcolm said, moaning low in his throat as Jamie started stroking him over his trousers.

"Not so great," Jamie murmured against Malcolm's neck, "but now you mention it, it has its fuckin' moments. Like now fer instance. Merry Christmas tae all..."

"...And a great fuckin' night," Malcolm said, bending to kiss Jamie again.

 

THE END

Happy Christmas/Season's Greetings/Happy Holidays, one and all! 

krikky xxx


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